


Sunday Night, Monday Morning

by Pretending2BeMe



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Brief Mention of the Fracas, Drunken Shenanigans, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, See-Sawing Emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5386154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pretending2BeMe/pseuds/Pretending2BeMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened after the last Live show...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Night, Monday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> On 29th November 2015, CHM played their last Live show at the O2 in London. This is what happened after the show was over (or maybe not...)

_“Right, now we’re gonna go and get shit-faced!”_

When Jeremy had thrown down his drum-sticks and yelled that out to the crowd, he’d damn well meant it. He had somehow managed to drag himself through the worst twelve months of his life and as far as he was concerned, this night – the last night of their live show - signalled the end of it. For his own sanity, not to mention that of James and Richard, it had to be. It was time to move on; to file it all away in a little wooden box at the back of his brain and walk forward into better things. But first he planned to get royally drunk.

*

It was well past 3am when the three of them fell out of the cab in front of Jeremy’s block and another twenty minutes before they managed to stumble, stagger and giggle their way through the front door. Twenty minutes of Jeremy, arm braced on the door-frame, body swaying and eyes squinting at the key-hole; twenty minutes of James throwing out a stream of swear words every time the keys were dropped and contorting himself into weirder and weirder shapes as he tried to pick them up without falling over; twenty minutes of Richard sliding down the wall and yanking himself back up the second before he landed on his arse and twenty minutes of the three of them taking it turns to slur “How hard can it be?” as they fought their way in.

Eventually the front door gave up its secrets and Jeremy launched himself down the passage and straight into the kitchen for more booze while James and Richard collapsed onto the sofa.

When Jeremy slid himself along the walls to join them, the pockets of his leather jacket were stuffed with as many bottles of beer as he could fit in and his hands gripped a bottle of gin like his life depended on it. Coming to a stop when his knees hit the coffee table, he flung out his arms and invited James and Richard to “Get a load of that, boys!”

Looking up, Richard chuckled, “I’d need a fucking magnifying glass to find it, old man!”

“Fuck off, you short arse,” Jeremy threw back good-naturedly.

James shook his head to focus as he retrieved the alcohol from Jeremy, “You bloody deserved that after insh-inshin-insinuating to eleven thousand people that he’s got a small cock.”

Throwing himself forward, Jeremy landed on Richard with an ‘Ooof’. Grabbing him by the cheeks he smacked a kiss somewhere vaguely near his mouth and said, “Oh, he knows I don’t mean it, don’t you, my little hamster.”

Shoving him off, Richard wiped his face on the back of his sleeve, took the bottle that James was waving at him and took a large swig. “Is the day ever gonna come when you don’t call me that?” he asked.

Jeremy shook his head vigorously and yelled, “Never!”

Richard pulled a face and punched Jeremy on the arm, splashing beer on his jacket with a giggle.

Jeremy looked aghast as the liquid ran down his sleeve; but he was drunk enough to not really care. Scooping at the lager in his fingers, he flicked it in Richard’s face, “Oi, watch it, you little pikey,” he chuckled back.

Jutting his chin forward in a half-challenge, Richard grinned and, tipping some of his beer into his hand, he dived forward and smacked Jeremy right in the centre of his chest, “Or what?” he asked, knowing the game of old.

Double-taking at the wet stickiness on his T-Shirt, Jeremy launched himself upright, “Oh you’re asking for it now,” he slurred. Wobbling on his feet, Jeremy attempted to take off his jacket but the copious amount of alcohol swimming in his system made him even more ungainly than usual and it was a full five minutes of swaying struggle before he was free. Tossing his coat across the room, Jeremy looked down at Richard grinning up at him with slightly crossed eyes and laughed, “You wanna back out?” he asked.

Richard just shook his head and braced for impact. The pair of them had played out the same scenario so many times over the years that it was almost tradition. It was their own drunken in-joke and tonight was no different.

Half diving and half falling onto Richard, Jeremy straddled the younger man’s hips, flexed his fingers and launched his attack. Instantly going for his sides, Jeremy began to tickle swiftly and without mercy. Flying over Richard’s stomach, under his arms and across his ribs, Jeremy cackled with laughter as Richard writhed and squealed below him. “Ready to surrender?” he asked between breaths.

“Fuck, No!” shrieked Richard as he fought back with wild fingers. Kicking his legs he momentarily gained the advantage as Jeremy’s impaired balance threatened to throw him off.

“James! James, help!” yelped Jeremy as he scrabbled at the back of the sofa in an effort to stay upright.

Through it all, James had sat squashed up at the end of the sofa trying to drink his beer while being jiggled about through the melee. Holding his bottle aloft to keep any spillage at bay, James scowled, “If he pukes, Clarkson, you’re on your own.”

“Oooh,” mocked Jeremy, “Mother has spoken.”

“Sod off,” replied James, playing his part to perfection. “Why – why -why do you two have to revert to childhood every time we have a drink?”

Jeremy knew that James was only comedy cross but he was dangerously out of breath and needed a way out without conceding defeat. “Alright you miserable git,” he said over his shoulder before turning back to Richard and asking “Shall we call it a draw?”

“Only if we can say I won,” demanded Richard as he moved to sit up.

Jeremy huffed out a laugh as he climbed off Richard. He tried to stand while at the same time attempting to cuff the younger man round the head but the move was too much for his drunken system and he swayed wildly before his knees gave out and he landed in a heap in the middle of the sofa.

“Bloody hell, Jeremy!” moaned James as he was once more jostled about in his seat.

“Oh shut up,” ribbed Jeremy as he righted himself. “Do something useful and make us a gin.”

James peered owlishly at the coffee table, “I can’t, there’s no tonic.” After a beat, the solution filtered in and he levered himself off the sofa to fetch some.

“Jeremy?” asked Richard.

“Yes?” answered Jeremy, his head swaying in a circle as he tried to turn towards the question.

“Gimme a snog.”

Giving up on trying to face Richard, Jeremy let his head flop back on the ridge of the sofa. Pointing vaguely near his lap, he said, “If you can make up it here, you can have one.”

James, by sheer power of will had made it to kitchen but the return journey proved a bit more difficult. Carrying the bottle of Tonic in one hand and three glasses in the other while trying to walk was tantamount to taking a physics exam while being repeatedly dunked head-first in a fish tank and it took him a few attempts before his feet would play ball. Spreading his arms wide and deliberately placing each foot in front of the other he slowly made his way across the passage to the living room. Reaching the safety of the sofa once more, he dropped his cargo onto the cushion and glanced up to see Richard straddling Jeremy, kissing him like his life depended on it. “Is this a private party of can anyone join in?” he asked.

Jeremy, trapped by Richard’s eagerness and his own arms wrapped round Richard’s back to keep him from falling was rapidly running out of oxygen but the more he struggled the more Richard held on.

Seeing Jeremy’s desperation made James bray out a laugh and it was a few minutes before he was able to come to his aid. Eventually, he managed to stretch his arm over the sofa and grab Richard by the hair, yanking his head backwards, “Fuck sake Hammond, let the man breathe; he smokes a billion fags a day for god sake.”

Richard just grinned, “Yeah, but I love it when he fights me!”

Stumbling around the sofa, James flopped himself down, “I know but get off and leave some for me alright.”

Reluctantly, Richard clambered off his prey and threw himself back to his own cushion. Still panting, Jeremy wiped his face on his sleeve, “I hate to break it to you lads, but you’re flogging a dead horse. The spirit is willing but the body is fucked.”

“Or not!” howled James as he yet again dissolved into giggles

“Alright, thank you Captain Witty, I’d like to see you to do better.”

“Fuck off, I can’t even _see_!” replied James as he squinted at the bottle of gin he was trying to open.

Deciding that team work was the only way, all three men eased themselves towards the coffee table and began the gargantuan task of pouring out three gin and tonics. Finally it came together and, glasses in hand; they sighed and sat back as one.

“Fuck me that was hard,” breathed Jeremy. “Whose idea was this anyway?”

“Yours!” yelled James and Richard in unison.

Yeah, but we’ve earned though haven’t we,” justified Jeremy as he took a mouthful of his drink. “I think we did well tonight.”

For the next hour the trio sat working their way through the gin and the beers, dissecting their night’s work; each chuckling at the jokes they had thrown out, the heckles they had heard, the backstage chaos and the crowd’s reaction to the finale. “I thought Chris was gonna wet himself when Jez dragged him on the floor,” laughed Richard.

“Yeah, well; we couldn’t let the last one pass without giving him something, could we?” said James as he sloshed out yet more gin.

Leaning back in his seat, Jeremy ran a hand down his face and let out a sigh, “Jesus, _the last_ _one_. Sounds fucking awful don’t it. Over. Finished. Done. Gone and lost forever.” As a heavy silence descended on the room, Jeremy dropped his glass on the table in front of him, burst out a final, “Fuck it!” and fled, leaving James and Richard blinking at each other in the suddenness of it all.

A few minutes went by before James gave Richard a backwards nod, silently communicating that they should go in search of Jeremy. Grabbing his cigarettes, he yanked Richard off the sofa and together they staggered out of the room with Richard backtracking briefly to pick up the gin bottle.

They found Jeremy sitting in the semi-dark on the floor of the bathroom, scrunched up with his head down and arms hugging his knees. Secretly, James had been waiting for this to happen, he knew and understood the significance of this night and he’d spent the last three days sticking close to Jeremy and watching for it out of the corner of his eye. Watching and waiting for the explosion in whatever form it would take. Underneath Jeremy’s noisy, tough, uncaring TV persona lay a man that felt deeply about things but he only ever showed the world tiny pockets of it. Richard and James – the two people that he loved and trusted the most - were the only people that got to witness his raw and honest emotions; and over the last year particularly, they’d witnessed a great deal. James had lost count of how many times he’d found Jeremy in more or less the same position, emotionally bleeding about the situation they found themselves in. James had thought that with the new show finally beginning to happen the wounds could begin to heal but tonight the plaster had been ripped off, baring them once more.

Easing themselves down to sit on either side of Jeremy, they each slid an arm around him; Richard hugging him tight, attempting to soothe with shushing and pats to his back and James whispering, “It’s alright mate, it’s alright; come on.”

Sniffing loudly, Jeremy shook his head, “No, no it’s not alright, it’s never going to be alright.”

“Jez, look at me,” James urged. Pausing as Jeremy slowly lifted his head and wiped his hand down his face, he said at last, “The first time you said that to me was nine years ago, and you were wrong. You said it again back in March and you were wrong again. Now, trust me on this, you’re still wrong.”

Jeremy smiled awkwardly, “I wish I could believe you, James, but right now…” his words trailed off as he patted himself down looking for his cigarettes. Without a word, James took two cigarettes from his packet, lit them both and passed one over.

“Ever the Boy Scout aren’t you,” teased Jeremy.

“I’ve known you too long, mate.” countered James.

They sat silently smoking for a few minutes until Jeremy, calmed enough by the familiarity felt able to explain himself. “I knew it was over the second my fist landed but in a strange way, it wasn’t. Having the tour to do felt like a small piece of the old life was still there. I might have lost my baby but I still had the toys to play with. But now they’re gone and it really is all over.”

At last, Richard, who had sat silently through it all gulping the gin, piped up, “I know it’s a cliché, Jez, but don’t be sad it’s over, be happy that it happened it all. Think of all the amazing things we’ve done; people we’ve met, places we’ve been and all the crazy stunts we’ve pulled.”

Jeremy, beginning to surrender to his lover’s cheering attempts, shrugged and shook his head, “Yeah, it is a cliché but I suppose it’s true, how many people get to take Viagra on top of the Andes eh?”

“Or handcuff themselves to a bus in the middle of London?” chuckled James.

“Or nearly drown in a Dolly Sprint,” giggled Richard. Taking another swig from his bottle; he continued with the memories, “Remember that night in France, the first time we got together? We were drunk then and sat pretty much like this, on the floor wondering what the hell to do. It’s like we’ve come full circle, isn’t it.”

“Yeah, we have,” agreed James. “And we just keep going. No matter what, we keep going.”

“Alright, alright I hear you!” laughed Jeremy. “Stop bleating, Clarkson, and get off your arse.” Stretching out his legs, he kissed both James and Richard in turn, “Thanks you two, you always know what to do when I get like this; you always manage to calm me down and rein me in.”

James shrugged in embarrassment, “That’s why we work, Jez, we’re all different but we know how to handle each other. Listen, tonight shouldn’t be about tears, it should be about happiness. We’ve worked our bollocks off this year keeping everything afloat and we pulled out some bloody good shows this weekend. Yes, tomorrow will be different but it’ll still be the same, the three of us cocking about, trying to not to get into trouble.”

Before Jeremy could come back with a withering comment on James’ sentimentality, Richard lurched sideways and clambered hastily over James and Jeremy. With all four limbs flying in different directions, he gurgled, “I’m gonna be sick!” seconds before reaching the toilet and doing just that.

Both Jeremy and James burst out laughing; the sudden interruption a welcome relief, “See, I told you; nothing changes!” cackled James.

Jeremy shook his head; he’d seen it too many times to be concerned, “Serves him right for drinking neat gin.”

Richard flung his arm behind his back and gave them the finger, making them both howl again as he continued to swear and heave beside them.

“Come on, let’s get the sick bucket and go to bed,” James giggled as he stood up. “We’ve got to go to work in the morning.”

Jeremy grabbed James’ legs and scrabbled upright, “Yes; yes we have,” he answered with a smile.

*

As he lay in the centre of his bed sandwiched between his two lovers, Jeremy turned the key on his metaphorical box. It had been a hard ride but he had survived and while everything was now different, it was still essentially the same – the three of them were still together and they still got to do what they loved, albeit under a different name. Closing his eyes, he finally let himself believe that everything would indeed be ok. How he would feel when his hangover hit in few hours time was another matter entirely…

 The End.


End file.
